


Glorfindel's Yules

by Wynja2007



Series: Glorfindel's Yuletides [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Yuletide; Night of the Names; Fluff; Homecoming; The Importance of Good Towels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2832797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/Wynja2007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower has seen more Yuletides than many of the elves of Middle Earth. </p><p>Here are some of his most memorable...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Glorfindel's Yuletide Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telemachus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/gifts).



> Set some time after TA 2500 but before TA 2700
> 
> Is intended as a standalone series, but the first section is set very firmly in the same universe/timeframe as 'Where it Doesn't Show'... but you really don't need to read that in order to understand this.

‘Almost there,’ Calithilon said. ‘Home in time for Yuletide, Glorfindel, if not the actual Yulefest Eve feast itself.’

‘Good.’ Glorfindel tried not to sound terse, but, even under the dense canopy of Mirkwood’s thickest trees, the chill rain had found the gap between his cloak and his neck with determined precision. At least it wasn’t snowing. ‘I’ve had enough feasts in my lives to last me forever. There are other things I want.’

‘What will you seek first?’ 

Calithilon asked the age-old homebound warrior’s question, seeking to raise their mood. For all was well, really, and they should ride in proud and with high-held heads. 

‘For me, a soak in the bath,’ Erthor, the other guard replied. ‘You?’

‘My sweetheart’s smile. Even though I’m certain to get a scold for coming back so late! Glorfindel, what of you?’

‘Oh, many things would be good… but first, very first, the sight of a certain beautiful ellon’s smile, Triwathon the flame-haired, that will content me.’

‘And so, baths, scolds, and smiles. Let us straighten our backs, then, and ride forward to these much-deserved comforts!’

Calithilon was trying, Glorfindel had to admit, so he made himself sit taller in the saddle and tried to contribute.

‘What’s that song Bregon’s lot are always singing? Let’s give the forest some voices, shall we?’

*

At this time of evening, well into the winter dark, the gate guards closed the door and stood duty from inside the palace. As far as they knew, everyone who was due back from patrol had already arrived, so the sound of a slightly ragged rendering of ‘Heroes Coming Home’ from outside was a little startling.

‘Ai, Valar! Who can it be?’ the first asked.

‘I am sure that is Erthor! They are back, back from their errand! Send word, let the king know, quickly!’ the second said, unbarring the gate as his  
companion ran off to alert the palace as the little troop came into sight and crossed the bridge.

‘Leave everything to us,’ Calithilon said, taking the reins of Glorfindel’s horse. ‘Erthor and I will take your horse round, get yourself indoors, my lord; the feast may not have ended yet.’

So… as soon as they had come in sight of the palace gates, he was Lord Glorfindel once more. Ah, well. For a while, it had been good to just ride with fellow warriors, but palace protocols… Erthor and Calithilon might earn themselves a rebuke if any heard them calling him just by name now.

‘My thanks,’ Glorfindel said, swinging down from the saddle but not relinquishing his reins. ‘But I’ll come round with you. I don’t feel much like feasting. But will you see these reports and letters get to the king, or at least to his advisor tonight?’

‘Of course, my lord.’

‘I’m grateful. Want to just get my saddlebags and ask after my friend Triwathon…’

But once they got to the barracks, no-one seemed to know where the warrior might be.

‘He was off duty a while ago,’ someone told him. 

‘I saw him leave the feasting halls earlier,’ another said. ‘Perhaps to the baths, or to his quarters.’

‘Oh, I know the way,’ Glorfindel said. ‘My thanks; I’m in need of a bath myself anyway.’

He bid goodnight and set off back into the palace.

It was rather gloomy, he thought. Someone had made an attempt to decorate for Yulefest; there were occasional swags of evergreens over the arches to the corridors, dotted with bright berries, but they were few, and the corridors felt cold and damp. He couldn’t help remembering the splendour of the House of the Golden Flower, decorated for all the feasts of the season, or even the more restrained (although still festive) halls of Imladris in their elegant acknowledgement to the turn of the solstice.

When he got to his destination, though, the shared bathing rooms were empty. Even so, Glorfindel stayed away from the end where ellyn looking for company tended to congregate, just in case; the only ellon he wanted to see tonight was Triwathon. Still, the water was hot and refreshing, and he felt better for washing away the mire of the journey.

Warm again, Glorfindel dressed in clean clothes from his saddlebags and headed off through the corridors; there was nothing for it but to knock on Triwathon’s door.

He took a moment to straighten his tunic, flick his hair back, lick his lips before he knocked.

No answer.

No answer, but when he tentatively tried the handle, the door opened like an invitation.

‘Triwathon?’

Glorfindel brought the corridor lamp in with him and stared, not sure what he was seeing.

Or wasn’t seeing.

It certainly wasn’t decorated for Yulefest.

The room was empty; well, not empty as such; the bed was there, covers rolled up, pillows on top… it was just unoccupied.

What had happened? Where was Triwathon? Not… not dead?

Panic seized him for a moment until he realised, he’d been asking, have you seen Triwathon, and the name was used freely back to him, and, besides, they had suggested where to look… 

He was just… not here.

Disappointment and exhaustion caught up with Glorfindel suddenly and he dropped down onto the bed in near-despair. Where was Triwathon? 

He’d brought something home for him for Yule, nothing much, just something he’d found along the way he thought might be appreciated. And now it was Yuletide Night, and there was no Triwathon and no warmth and he had so been looking forward to that famous Triwathon cuddle, the long limbs wrapping round him, it was all he wanted for Yule, a cuddle from Triwathon…

Well, maybe he’d come back soon?

Glorfindel unrolled the covers and curled up, holding one of the pillows close against his chest. If he inhaled deeply, he was sure there was just a trace of Triwathon left there... and he was still inhaling sadly when reverie swooped down to bless him with sleep.


	2. The Wanderer Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Triwathon gets a message...

Triwathon bade goodnight to Hador and his wife, wishing them a joyous Yuletide before heading back to his own rooms. It was strange, still, being in the larger quarters that came with the honour of his new role, but he was getting used to the space. Passing the junction of the corridor that led to the barracks exit, he was hailed by one of the duty soldiers.

‘Your friend was looking for you… you didn’t find him yet? He said he knew where you roomed…’

‘Who exactly was looking for me?’

‘Glorfindel. He’s back…’

Hurrying his thanks, Triwathon hastened home, but his rooms were empty… 

Was this a joke? How unkind, if so… but… 

But Glorfindel had left on his errand before the new guard companies had come into being, so he could not possibly know about the new rooms…

Triwathon turned on his heel and almost ran through the corridors, back to his old, single quarters, back to his past life.

He held his breath and shoved at the not-quite closed door.

And there he was, curled up on the bed like a little lost elfling.

Glorfindel.

Triwathon felt the smile starting and he crossed to the narrow bed to fold himself around the resting form. He slid one arm under the Balrog-slayer’s neck, eased his leg over the warrior’s thigh, held him close with his other arm and reached to gently take the delicate ear tip between his lips, teasing gently with his tongue.

‘…tickles,’ Glorfindel said eventually.

‘It’s all part of the infamous Triwathon cuddle,’ Triwathon said softly into his ear. ‘Or had you forgotten?’

‘Never forgot. Just…’ Glorfindel broke off. One of his hands came up to touch the enfolding arm and hand of his friend, and he shifted suddenly, trying to sit up. ‘Triwathon? You’re back?’

‘No. You’re back. I’m just here.’

In an instant Glorfindel had turned him, rolled him to lie over him and try to hug and kiss him simultaneously. Presently, coming up for breath, Triwathon placed a restraining finger on his lips.

‘You know, I have much nicer rooms now. There is a window, and everything. Would you like to come and see?’

‘I’m quite happy here, as it happens.’

‘Yes. I can tell. But in my quarters, there is honey beer.’

‘Oh. Ah, well, in that case… it would be rude not to…’

Glorfindel sat up on the narrow bed, a silly grin spreading on his face.

‘I’ve got something for you.’

‘Yes, once more, I can tell.’ Triwathon said, laughing, standing up and reaching out his hands. ‘Come on, then, iphant-nin, hir-nin, melleth-nin! Let me kiss you and take you back to my rooms. Let me show you how pleased I am that you made it home for Yulefest Eve.’

‘But the feast is over…’

‘Truth to tell, I didn’t have much appetite in the feasting hall. The kitchen will have plenty to spare, I will send for food. Now come with me. I want to see you, properly, to show you my new rooms. Are these yours?’ 

He indicated the saddlebags. 

‘Yes, I told you, I do have something for you…’

‘You are very kind.’ Triwathon hoisted the saddlebags over his shoulder and took Glorfindel’s hand. ‘I’ve something for you in my quarters, too. I… what does one get for the one who has everything, has done everything?’

‘All I wanted for Yule was a Triwathon cuddle, so I’m happy,’ Glorfindel said, following Triwathon out of the room, keeping tight hold of his slender-fingered hand. ‘But I’ll take another, if there’s one going?’

‘For you, always. It is not far, I promise.’

They passed into more populated corridors, and here the Yule decorations were more abundant, the lamps brighter, and Triwathon turned between a festooned gateway, gates wide and polished and glinting.

‘I know this place! It’s where the Court Guard had that drinking session… the one where we missed Arwen dancing on the tables…’

‘Yes… because you wanted to take me home and cuddle, so you pretended to be very, very drunk…’

He tapped lightly on a gong suspended at the side of the gates, and a servant appeared in one of the doorways.

‘May I be of service, Captain?’

‘Please, Gwenthel. Can you bespeak a Yulefest meal for two from the kitchens? My friend has just ridden in and is starving. If you can get them to part with some honey beer, too…’

‘And a bottle of fine red wine, if they have it,’ Glorfindel added. ‘Most grateful.’

‘Before I get side-tracked again, Glorfindel, tell me of Erthor and Calithilon? Are they well?’

‘Like me, wet and cold, but looking forward to their families and their feasts. Good fellows to ride with.’

‘Thank you. I should have asked earlier, but there you were, filling up all my attention. Well, these are my rooms. Come in, be welcome, make them yours while you are here.’

Glorfindel followed Triwathon in, looking around. The chamber was spacious, with a wide window out into the dark, and a warm fire burning in the hearth around which a sofa and two chairs were grouped. Shelves cut into the rock walls provided space for books on one wall, dishes and glasses on another. A table with chairs was set beneath the window, the sill of which was covered with ivy and holly and fragrant pine branches interwoven and punctuated with bright red and luminous golden berries. An arch led through to another chamber, curtained off at present for privacy.

Bright rugs made splashes of colour on the floor here and there and the walls were decorated with more evergreens. Lamps and lanterns burned brightly, making the room glow golden.

‘This is… very different!’

Triwathon grinned.

‘I know. I sometimes can’t believe it’s real. I can believe it now, though. Nothing makes a room feel like home like having someone you care about in it with you.’

Triwathon reached to a low shelf in the outer wall of the chamber and brought out two bottles of honey beer. 

‘One for now, to share from the glass,’ he said with a smile as he collected glasses. ‘And one for later, to play with, if the thought pleases you.’

‘That particular thought has pleased me through many a long night…’

Triwathon breached the bottle and poured its contents into two glasses.

‘And you have been in my thoughts, each day, every night. Welcome home, Glorfindel.’


	3. Yulefest Celebrations, Just for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel and Triwathon exchange Yule gifts...

‘So, tell me about this place? And about you…?’ 

Glorfindel ran his eyes up and down Triwathon’s body. His friend was still in uniform, dark brown and burgundy shades with fitted leather corselet and light leaf-mail across the shoulders, a design the Balrog-slayer didn’t remember seeing before.

‘Ah, well.’ Triwathon took a mouthful of beer, swirling it round his mouth in a way that made Glorfindel suddenly thirsty. ‘The two are linked; new job, new quarters. I’ve had a promotion. I’m Second in the Black Company of the Dragon Guard.’

‘The…?’

‘It’s new. Three companies, Black, Red, Grey, all of us who took part in the Battle of the Three Dragons on the plains near the Langflood, or faced dragons previously in our careers. The chambers formed part of the promotion.’

‘Well, congratulations. I’m very pleased for you. And proud of you.’

Triwathon laughed.

‘I love the work, too. I used to be so nervous of having to even ask for anything; the idea of giving orders filled me with such dread! But it’s not so difficult, and I am doing well, they tell me.’

A knock at the door and Triwathon got up to open it and take delivery of supper from the kitchens. Thanking the servant, he set down the tray and   
secured the door.

‘And finally I can take off my uniform!’ he said, unfastening the closures and sliding the armoured jerkin off. ‘It is very light, considering, but it makes me feel as broad as Thiriston Cut-Face! Come, eat with me.’

He laid out the dishes on the table and set wine glasses beside each plate. Glorfindel examined the wine and uncorked the bottle, setting it down to breathe.

‘Thank you for thinking of the wine,’ Triwathon said. ‘Now, we will eat, and we will drink to our friends, and then if you like we can exchange Yuletide gifts while our food settles, and then I hope you will stay with me?’

‘It sounds like the perfect Yulefest, to me.’

Triwathon served the food, loading Glorfindel’s plate and taking only modest portions for himself.

‘For I did dine earlier, even if I left more of what was before me. But I don’t want to be overfull for later.’ He caught Glorfindel’s chin between his fingers and tipped his head left and right. ‘Whilst you, my dear friend, have a hollow look to your cheeks. I am sure you have not been eating well.’

‘I’ve had enough to keep me on my feet,’ Glorfindel said, grinning. ‘Lembas and water, it is a fine purifier for the fëa. But there is no better feast than this. And I do not mean the venison and roasted roots.’

They ate slowly, savouring the food, each other’s company, talking lightly, inconsequentially, each word an affirmation: You are here, I am here, all   
is well.

At the end of the meal, Glorfindel poured the wine. It slurred into the glasses like liquid rubies and its aroma was heady and decadent.

‘So, shall we drink to friends old and new?’ he suggested. ‘To the Lord of the Fountain and to Fine Red Wine?’

‘We shall, indeed,’ Triwathon said, raising his glass and sipping. ‘To your Lord of the Fountain.’

‘And to your Fine Red Wine.’

‘And… to you, Glorfindel, with your too-blue eyes.’

‘And your so-beautiful fëa…’

They took their glasses and the bottle to the sofa in front of the fire, and rested together in contented anticipation to drink and get used to each other’s company after the time apart.

When the wine was almost gone and Glorfindel feeling so relaxed and at ease that, almost, he would have been happy just to reverie in Triwathon’s arms there and then, he stirred himself.

‘The thing I have for you… it is silly, inconsequential, a thing found on the way and I thought… Oh, yes, for my Triwathon… where is your hand?’

‘Here.’ 

Triwathon spread his palm out for Glorfindel, and his friend tumbled something into it; a small thing, a pebble, but lined with the most beautiful stripes and striations of turquoise crystals.

‘I found it in a stream bed,’ Glorfindel said lightly. ‘It has stayed with me, what you said about my eyes, and I finally found something more blue…’

‘It truly is beautiful,’ Triwathon said. ‘However… I think it is perhaps as blue. But not more so. And my gift for you, it seems now… less   
appropriate than I had thought it. For this stone will endure through all the ages of the world… my offering is more prosaic, but it might make you laugh when I tell you… all the times you shared my room, this is why I give you this. I did not dare think you would be home for Yulefest, but I   
worked on your gift anyway, hoping.’

He reached beneath the sofa and pulled out a package of substantial size and wrapped, too, so the contents were not obvious. Glorfindel’s eyes lit up.

‘A surprise! I do like surprises… well, usually… thank you.’ He leaned in to kiss Triwathon. ‘Before even I know what you have for me, thank you.’

And now he fell on the package with a little squeal of delight that made Triwathon laugh as the wrapping came off and flew everywhere. Inside…

‘What are these?’

‘Can you not see?’ Triwathon’s voice tried not to sound uncertain. ‘And there is a little package inside too, this is not all… Towels, Glorfindel. For all those times that you stayed with me and bundled up in one of my towels and then somehow took it with you when you left…’

Glorfindel had the grace to look shamefaced.

‘Only because they were yours,’ he said. ‘I am not in general a towel-thief…’

‘No, indeed! But these… I went to my friend the dyer, and learned how to colour them to this blue you like so well. And then… then I spent endless evenings with Merlinith, Commander Govon’s sister and she showed me how… shake it out… see the edge…’

Now Glorfindel’s bemusement turned to laughter.

‘The Golden Flowers of my House! Triwathon, it is wonderful… You learned this work?’

‘I did indeed. I sat and stitched like an elleth and reminded myself it was for my Lord of the House of the Golden Flower… I fear poor Merlinith may have thought her charms were changing my nature, I spent so long at my lessons with her…’

‘Well, any warrior needs to be able to sew a seam on campaign… and it is very fine work.’

‘But as I say, these will not endure as will the stone you found me…’

‘I will take good care of them, I promise. I suppose over the centuries the dye will fade and the colour of the flowers will change, but still, you made them for me. And I will think of you always when I am bathing… not that I do not anyway… but…’

‘You are welcome. Open the small package, then. It is inside the towels.’

The small packet was just that, very small, a little flat and rounded shape, just the kind of thing you might lose, if you were a warrior and riding around all day slaying Balrogs. Or quite small enough to squirrel away into a pocket, if you took just a moment to be mindful.

It contained a small phial inside which a golden liquid swirled sluggishly. Glorfindel uncorked it and sniffed.

‘Is this what I think it is?’

‘It is a suggestion, a hint, a promise, perhaps. And pressed from the most yellow flowers I could find, sunflowers, or rather, their seeds, so it does not smell too floral, or look like honing oil…’

Glorfindel laughed.

‘A lovely thought, indeed. But I tell you, my beauty – it will not last nearly as long as the towels.’


	4. Yuletide Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yuletide Day arrives...

Glorfindel felt perfect. He was warm, and comfortable, and there was an arm under his head that wasn’t his, one around his waist holding him tight, a leg draped over his hip and the closeness of another body swamping him with affection.

And there was an insistent nudging in his lower back, as if someone were trying to get his attention by poking him with something hard and firm and hot but somehow soft at the same time...

He smiled and opened slow and lazy eyes. Oh, Triwathon…

‘I’m awake. And it seems bits of you are awake, too. If the rest of you is awake, perhaps we could do something about those bits of our bodies that are more awake than the rest of us…?’ he suggested, even as Triwathon’s enfolding arm began to move, his hand to slide down and his mouth to find Glorfindel’s ear tip. ‘Oh, Triwathon, how I love you!’

The delicious teasing on his ear tip stopped almost as soon as it began, and Triwathon untangled himself and slid away, causing Glorfindel to panic, thinking his words had caused this retreat, cursing himself for not keeping silent, for not choosing his moment with more care. But then those sensitive hands were reaching for him, repositioning him on his back and Triwathon lay on top of him like a blessing from the Valar and looked down into his face, and he was smiling.

‘Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, mighty Balrog-slayer, erstwhile Seneschal of Rivendell, hir-nin, Laurefindil-nin, iphant-nin, I love you also.’

Glorfindel let out the breath he had been holding and grinned.

‘Well, that’s all right, then,’ he said.

*

When, eventually, they rose, Triwathon stirred the embers of the fire into life, wrapped himself in a dressing robe and stepped out to request breakfast from the wing’s servant-housekeeper.

‘We’ve a little while to wait before Gwenthel brings the food,’ he said. ‘So would you like to inspect my new, up-to-the-minute hygiene facilities?’

‘Triwathon, really!’ Glorfindel snorted. ‘If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all…’

‘Ah, not this. Come. You will like it, I think. Our former Apprentice Healer Hanben, finding himself not really suited to his work, has gone off on another tack… he invents things to make life better… and we warriors of the Dragon Guard get all the best… well, the newest, we test them for him… not everything he invents works so well as this.’

Triwathon grabbed Glorfindel by the hand and dragged him into a tiny room off the sleeping chamber, one he’d spotted last night but had been too busy to really notice. It was small, and square, and tall, and there was a raised edge he had to step over and a leather curtain to draw.

‘Hmm… dark… cosy…’

And then Triwathon turned something on one wall, and Glorfindel shrieked as from above, a fine rain of water dropped onto his head. At first it was cold, but then it became pleasantly warm and he sighed and pulled Triwathon close against him.

‘Someone has invented warm rain! How very clever, I wonder why the Valar never thought of that?’

Triwathon laughed and reached for a bar of soap in a little crevice in the wall.

‘It is called a washing cascade. There is a tank for clean water, topped up every day by the servants, and placed within the walls above the fire, so it gets warmed. Then opening the valve on the pipe lets it through. It is not the same as the bathing rooms, but it is, at least, refreshing.’

‘And private.’ Glorfindel took the soap from Triwathon and began to slide it across his lover’s back. ‘And very interesting…’

‘We can’t linger too long – the water will run out and our breakfast will be here. Let me wash your golden hair, my dear friend, and then we should be done.’

Sure enough, Glorfindel had turned his attention to Triwathon’s dark auburn tresses when the cascade began to slow.

‘That means it is near the end of the tank,’ Triwathon told him as the last suds ran clear and the water slowed. ‘Could you reach a towel?’

He twisted the valve in the wall to stop the trickle of water and wrapped the towel around himself before folding back the leather curtain and stepping out into the sleeping chamber. He laughed as Glorfindel followed, swathed in two of Triwathon’s towels.

‘You have your own now, you know!’

‘Far too nice to use on this bettered old hide of mine,’ Glorfindel said, smirking. ‘Besides, they’ll keep longer the less they’re used.’

‘Well, I will make you more for next Yule. And the one after.’

‘Really?’

‘If it pleases you, of course. For as long as it pleases you.’

‘For as long as it pleases us both.’ Glorfindel lifted one of the new, so-blue embroidered towels and stroked it over Triwathon’s damp hair. ‘When I said I love you, I meant it… but perhaps it should have lain unsaid…’

‘Don’t regret saying what I believed might be so already,’ Triwathon said gently. ‘There are many kinds of love, after all, and we should just enjoy the knowledge. It will make things sweeter.’

‘Until it makes them bitter,’ Glorfindel said, shaking his head. ‘Triwathon, you are so young, your fëa is so gentle…’

‘There will be no bitterness between us. Only kindness. For this is how it began, your kindness to me when you found me in the gardens, sorrowing for my dead friend. You nurtured me, cared for my fëa until I was healed by your generosity of spirit. And then you stayed beside me, allowing me to grow, and delighting in my new strength. If my fëa is gentle, still, it is because you helped me learn that a warrior has no need to be harsh and unfeeling. The love I feel from you comes from friendship, and even were that love to fade, as perhaps it might, then the friendship will still be there.’

‘Triwathon… I have lived through all the ages of the world, and I have never met one so wise…’

‘Well,’ Triwathon’s smile might have been mysterious, might have been just a little bit sad. ‘I know that your Lord of the Fountains has your fëa in his keeping; but that does not mean you and I cannot caress each other’s hearts, for a little while.’

Glorfindel grinned and slid his hand beneath Triwathon’s towel.

‘I can think of other things I’d like to caress as well,’ he said.

A knock at the door and the servant calling out that the breakfast was brought prevented Triwathon from responding.

‘After breakfast, my lean warrior,’ he said as he got up to open the door. ‘You’re going to need your energy.’


	5. The Middle-Day Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel finds out a little more about Yule in Mirkwood...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before it's pointed out to me that elves do not, strictly speaking, celebrate Yule, the Silvans have their own reasons for marking the occasion of the winter solstice...

‘Walk out with me,’ Triwathon said after breakfast. ‘I need to visit the barracks; we do not work today, of course, but we must be prepared in case of attack or need, so some of my warriors are on standby duty, and it is considered appropriate for the Commanders and their Seconds to acknowledge their sacrifice of time. I will be done for the middle day feast, though.’

‘You wouldn’t rather…?’ Glorfindel grinned and nodded towards the sleeping chambers.

‘Oh, every minute of every day with you, my Laurefindil, except while we actually are, or are savouring the sense of having just done so… but you, dear hir-nin, iphant-nin, you need to collect your energies…’

‘I will have less of the iphant-nin, and more of the hir-nin, I thank you!’ Glorfindel pouted. ‘But then it was a long ride… and I had come in from journeying only a little while before…’

Triwathon burst out laughing.

‘Ai, how I have missed you, Glorfindel! And I hope you know that if anyone else called you iphant, I would have something to say about it. But I must put on the uniform and go to my warriors. You are most welcome to come with me, or to stay here if you would prefer, or anything you like.’

‘With you, of course. But do I have to dress first?’

‘It is your choice, of course. But I am obliged to wear my uniform. And it is cold outside. And perhaps people might ogle you.’

‘There’s a thought. Me, being ogled.’

Triwathon grinned and headed for the sleeping chamber where he might have got on faster had not Glorfindel followed and arranged himself on the bed, moving languorously until the warrior succumbed to the golden temptation arrayed before him.

But eventually, he fastened up his uniform, helped Glorfindel with the closures on his jerkin, and the two set off for the barracks hand in hand.

As they approached the external doors, a servant hailed them.

‘Your pardon, Captain, my lord, but his majesty’s advisor Lord Arveldir has asked for Lord Glorfindel, if you can spare him the time, my lord?’

Glorfindel shrugged. 

‘I’ll see you later then, Captain.’

‘In the feasting hall, in couple of hours or so, remember? The middleday feast for the Yuletide celebrations?’

‘Um… did you say?’

‘I did,’ Triwathon grinned. ‘But you might not have been paying attention. If I’m there first, I’ll save you a place. Or if Arveldir wants you on the top table, tell him you’ll have a guest. I’ll see you later.’

Lifting his hand in farewell, he left the dimness of the palace and headed out into the bright, cold day.

The freezing air snapped at his face, refreshing, taunting. The cold wasn’t a problem, of course, but it was an added layer of sensation. No snow in the air, just the remains of a frost which must have looked beautiful on the grass earlier… he had missed it, of course, being otherwise engaged.

A couple of the warriors were sparring in the practice circle, one or two others watching and calling out encouragement. One of these saw Triwathon’s approach and made his way across.

‘Good day, Captain. You were looked for last night; Lord Glorfindel is back, he asked for you...’

‘We found each other, Fonor, thank you. Or I would have been earlier to the barracks.’

Fonor laughed, but then lowered his voice.

‘My brother Parvon… he was saying to me, when Glorfindel left, he didn’t think to see him come back to you… he was thinking, if you were alone, tonight of all nights..’

‘Ai, Fonor… your brother is a very thoughtful fellow, and under other circumstances… but I will not be alone, and besides, Glorfindel and I have an arrangement…’

‘I’ll try to explain to him.’ Fonor sighed. ‘It’s probably just a phase he’s going through.’

‘I would be sorry to hurt his feelings; it’s been done to me, so I know the pain of it.’ Triwathon patted Fonor’s shoulder. ‘I wish him well. Now, I’d better see how things are in the barracks.’ 

*

Glorfindel found himself ushered to the high table, a seat next to him reserved for Triwathon. There were other familiar faces present; Legolas and Commander Govon were standing behind their chairs, not near enough for conversation, however. Commander Bregon he knew, and greeted, and down at the far end of the table, presumably where they would be less noticeable, Thiriston and Canadion were placed. A seat for Arveldir was reserved on the far side of Triwathon’s place, and Glorfindel felt a touch to his shoulder as his friend came to stand beside him.

Arveldir announced the king, waiting for his majesty to sweep in and sit before taking his own place, and the food was served, the wine poured.

‘How were the barracks?’ Glorfindel asked. ‘Still there?’

‘Of course, still there,’ Triwathon smiled. 

‘So’s the guest room they set aside for me when I was last here; Arveldir says it’s ready for me whenever I want it, only it seems less luxurious now than it did. No washing cascade…’

‘If you wanted to spend time there after tonight, we could,’ Triwathon said. ‘I really do not mind.’

‘I like your new rooms, my dear friend. There is so much of you there.’

Triwathon smiled. 

‘And so, how was your meeting?’ he asked, changing the subject

On his other side, Arveldir cleared his throat, reminding Glorfindel he was present.

‘It was brief,’ Glorfindel said with a grin. ‘Luckily, we had plenty of time to write reports on the way back, so it was a case of, yes, exactly like we wrote, no, really, honest…’

This drew a smile from Arveldir.

‘His majesty finding himself busy with other matters this morning, I do hope Lord Glorfindel was not offended by my speaking with him instead…’

‘No, in fact, Lord Glorfindel was quite happy to have a little chat,’ the Balrog-slayer grinned. ‘Kings have many demands on their time and are probably no more immune from hangovers than the rest of us…’

Arveldir looked shocked, while Triwathon struggled not to laugh.

‘Not that I’m suggesting anything…’ Glorfindel went on, pretending an air of innocence.

‘Good,’ Triwathon said firmly. ‘Because, to quote your good self, the rich red Dorwinion of the Greenwood makes the white vintage of Imladris seem like… what was the phrase…? Maiden’s water, I think you said… although how you would know…’

‘Apple juice!’ Glorfindel said loudly. ‘I meant apple juice!’

‘My point being that many of us have stronger heads and stomachs than you might think,’ Triwathon said, giving Glorfindel a little nudge; so far the king had been studiously ignoring the Balrog-Slayer, and Triwathon was hoping to keep it that way, for his majesty did seem a little out of sorts today… not hungover, of course, merely… more sombre than Triwathon could remember in recent times. ‘Of course, if you would like a little drinking game or two while you are here…’

‘Oh, ho!’ Glorfindel grinned and allowed himself to be deflected. ‘That sounds like fun… tonight, my beauty?’

Triwathon smiled, but his eyes, Glorfindel noticed, had changed.

‘Not tonight. There are other plans for tonight.’

‘Am I invited?’ Glorfindel asked cautiously.

‘Yes, of course you are. It is a special evening. Tonight, everyone keeps to their rooms, or those of their friends and family, to eat and to talk. It’s a night for quiet reflection, a night to not be alone. I’d be honoured to have your company, Glorfindel.’

‘Sounds a bit serious… is it all right? If I’m there, I mean, I wouldn’t want to intrude, I could…’

‘Of course it is,’ Triwathon laid his hand on Glorfindel’s arm. ‘I’ve been hoping to share this night with you.’

‘Now I can’t wait!’ Glorfindel exclaimed. ‘What’s it about?’

At his other side, Arveldir shook his head.

‘I am sure Triwathon will tell you all you need to know at the appropriate time. But until then, it is not a matter for discussion. So I am afraid you will have to wait, my lord.’

Glorfindel hunched a shoulder.

‘I don’t do waiting very well at my age,’ he said, winking at Triwathon. ‘I might need a distraction to help the time pass…?’

‘Or maybe you can have a little nap this afternoon?’ Triwathon said, smiling as he spoke. ‘As you say, at your age…’

Once the meal was drawing to an end, the king got to his feet and nodded to Arveldir. Everyone else stood while he left, and the advisor spread his hands for attention.

‘We all know the significance of this night. None of you need be alone; if you find you have none to share with, bring me your names; it is his majesty’s wish that you all have company. May the night be blessed for you.’

Glorfindel looked at Triwathon, questions mounting, but his young friend smiled and shook his head.

‘Come, let’s go for a walk,’ he said. ‘I know a place where the trees at this time of year are beautiful, silver trunks swaying softly against the undergrowth.’

‘All right. Lead on.’

After all, if nothing else, Triwathon would look stunning in such a setting.

*

It was getting dark by the time Triwathon led the way back to the palace. The woods had been, as Triwathon had said, beautiful, and Glorfindel had been right; Triwathon himself looked breathtakingly gorgeous as he lay out on the forest floor, his head on Glorfindel’s lap and looking up into the sky between the trees.

‘You’re sure you’re not tempted by the thought of your crystal skylight and proper bathing pool?’ Triwathon asked as he walked with his lover back to the palace and through the passages. ‘I want to be with you, wherever you are, Glorfindel, but I love my new chambers.’

‘They suit you so well.’

‘I feel at home here, really settled. And, tonight, here is where I want to be with you, since you don’t mind.’

At the corridor to Triwathon’s chambers, the captain knocked on the door of the servant’s room.

‘Yes, Captain?’

‘Tonight’s meal. Two, please, and two extra places.’

‘Of course. It will be more than an hour yet.’

‘That’s fine, we’re in no hurry. What about you, Gwenthel?’

‘Oh, some of the company are sharing in the common room, Captain. They’ve invited me to join them, thank you for asking.’

‘Good, that’s good.’

Once behind Triwathon’s door, the lamps and fire lit against the dark, Glorfindel caught his lover’s hand.

‘Can I know what this is about yet?’

Triwathon brought his free hand up to ringlet a lock of Glorfindel’s hair between his fingers.

‘Not yet. I want you to take me to bed and share some honey beer with me, first. I want you to bury yourself in my body and hold me so close that we will never, ever be quite separate ever again. And then, when we are both naked and soft in each other’s arms, then I will tell you all about it.’

Glorfindel found himself smiling.

‘Sounds like a plan to me,’ he said.


	6. The Night of the Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel participates in a Silvan tradition...

Glorfindel’s head was a snuggling weight on Triwathon’s chest, the Balrog-Slayer’s arm and leg across his body possessively, his golden tresses a wonderful caress, a blessing over them both. Triwathon stared up at the ceiling of his bedchamber and swallowed hard, suddenly moved to tears.  
Glorfindel loved him.

It was not the same sort of love as that which the Balrog-slayer had felt for his Lord of the Fountain in Gondolin, long ago, Triwathon knew. And perhaps that was just as well, for while the love he bore for this scarred, beautiful hero was deep and vital and wonderfully fulfilling, at the same time, Triwathon knew Glorfindel was not his forever love.

But for now, it was enough, more than enough, it was abundance.

‘You well, Triwathon-nin?’ Glorfindel murmured into his chest.

‘Yes, Laurefindil-nin, I am well.’

He dropped a hand to stroke the rich sunlight of Glorfindel’s hair, sweep it back behind the elegant ear, brush his fingers against the strong jawline.

‘You sure?’ the Balrong-slayer murmured. ‘Your beautiful fëa felt sad for a minute…’

‘You in my arms, the memory of love and the promise of more; all is well in my world.’ Triwathon stirred to kiss Glorfindel’s forehead. ‘Time to get dressed, my golden love. We have a dinner to prepare for.’

‘Are you going to tell me yet?’

Triwathon sighed as he shifted out from beneath Glorfindel’s body.

‘Yes. Tonight is the Night of the Names. Tonight, I want you to talk to me about your Lord of the Fountain. And I will speak to you of Fine Red Wine.’

‘Oh. Oh, I see. You get to say the names tonight?’

‘Yes. There is a tradition, when the nights are longest and the stars are brightest, then they draw closer to us. When I asked for dinner for two, and two more settings – one is for your fallen friend, and one for mine. You will see.’

Triwathon slid from the bed and selected a shirt and leggings, simple clothes.

‘I’m sure Fine Red Wine would have liked to see me in the kilt, but this is what he was used to seeing me wear, what he liked. I dress for him, this evening. You don’t mind?’

‘You look wonderful in anything, Triwathon. Of course not.’ He grinned as he reached for his own clothing. ‘Now, my Lord of the Fountain, he liked me in just my skin…’

‘Well, that’s fine by me,’ Triwathon told him. ‘But there is Gwenthel, who will bring our dinner. We do not want to get her hopes up, do we?’

‘I’ll start out in my real clothes, then, and strip off for you later.’

Triwathon smiled.

‘Thank you – I’ll look forward to that.’ 

He kissed Glorfindel lightly and went through into the living room, tying his laces and tidying himself before turning his attention to the table beneath the window, laying out cutlery and glasses and plates, arranging two extra chairs there so that it looked as if four persons would be dining together. He lit candles and set them on the window ledge, but apart from those, lit no lamps against the darkness, the fire in the hearth providing the only other light.

‘Glorfindel, come and sit,’ he called out. ‘It’s almost time.’

The Balrog-slayer emerged from the sleeping room with a swagger and a wink, but behind the posturing, Triwathon could sense hesitation. He allowed his eyes to linger over his lover’s body, taking in the unbound hair, the golden circlet crowning the luxuriant tresses, the open-necked shirt and snug breeches. Glorfindel’s feet were unshod.

‘Barefoot and unbound?’ Triwathon asked with a smile.

‘As you say, unbound and barefoot. My Lord of the Fountains liked to see me ready for anything, feasting, fighting or flirting…’

‘You look perfect.’

A soft tapping at the door, and Triwathon found Gwenthel there with a little trolley laden with covered dishes, and two glass plates.

‘Thank you, Gwenthel. I hope your evening will be blessed.’

‘My thanks, Captain. May the observances bring you both only joy.’

Triwathon took charge of the trolley and Gwenthel smiled and curtseyed as she shut the door and went on her way. 

Parking the trolley at the end of the table, the captain placed the two glass plates on the table, one opposite Glorfindel, one at the place at his side, and began to serve food for himself and the Balrog-slayer.

‘I don’t understand,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Do you not wish to sit with me?’

‘Well, tonight, you’re sitting with your Lord of the Fountain,’ Triwathon said, smiling as he poured wine into their glasses. ‘And Fine Red Wine is my guest.’

Preparations made, he took his seat and reached across to lay his hand over Glorfindel’s for a moment.

‘I’ll start,’ he said. ‘Join in, whenever you want to, whenever you feel comfortable. Ask anything you wish, say whatever you want. And eat, enjoy the food, drink the wine. Feel part of the celebration, know that all through the forest, all over the palace, Silvans and those who have mourned Silvans are gathering tonight to talk of our lost ones.’

‘Of them, or to them?’ Glorfindel asked.

‘Sometimes it’s both. But that is why the king orders none should be alone tonight, with their memories of their lost ones, in case it is too hard, and they decide to follow them, and allow themselves to fade.’

‘You’re not going to do that, I hope?’

‘Me?’ Triwathon shook his head and smiled. ‘There is too much work for me to do here. Besides; you are here.’

‘And is your friend here? Fine Red Wine?’

‘He is in my heart and my thoughts. Wherever he is, if he hears his name, he will know he is remembered, and thought of. His name… his name was – no, is Maedon.’ Triwathon raised his glass towards the window and drank. ‘He was very dear to me, and I loved him, after a fashion. But not with that deep, dangerous love that strokes the fëa into ecstasy, just the love of one for another.’

‘Maedon! Lindir sang his name, I spoke his name at the rites on the eyot!’ Glorfindel said. ‘Poor chap.’

‘Indeed, his body was badly burned. Nestoril could not even comfort me with the thought that it may have been swift…’

‘My Lord of the Fountains,’ Glorfindel said, pausing to spear a mouthful of roast meat. ‘His name was Ecthelion, of course. And I can say his name whenever I want. But… well. He drowned, Triwathon. Of all the chances of that terrible day… we laughed about it afterwards…’

‘You laughed about it…? Together?’

‘Well, I laughed, he said it wasn’t funny and thumped me. He was fighting Gothmog – almost lost to him – then… he used to wear this helm with a spike on the top, we used it for quoits when he wasn’t looking, I remember… he got so cross at me for that… well, this day – the day Gondolin fell – he was fighting Gothmog, as I say, and nearly done for, disarmed, when he drove at the demon with his head down and spiked him on the point of the helm. Problem was, they both fell into the fountain, Ecthelion couldn’t get free and he drowned there. Poor fellow! Still, they say drowning’s a good way to go, although when I said to him after, I earned myself another thumping…’

‘You spoke after…?’ 

Good. Triwathon had thrown off the image of his Maedon burned, which was what Glorfindel had intended. He nodded, and pushed more food into his mouth.

‘Died myself, see. Another of those damn Balrogs… well, we were both sad, we’d each hoped the other had survived. Spent a lot of time talking together… that’s about all we could do in the Halls of Mandos, talk… it was sort of nice there, peaceful. Yes, you had to do all that, ‘do I regret anything I did, if not, why not?’ stuff, but it was comforting, too. Saw lots of my former friends there. Which was sad, too… anyway, when I think of him now, I see Ecthelion in his prime, armour shining, diamonds glinting in his midnight hair… or playing the flute for little Eärendil… oh, that child loved to hear him play… he’d make whistles for him out of willow… or else as he was in private with me, so laughing, so loving…’

‘I’m sorry; it’s obvious you miss him.’

‘Well, of course I do. But it doesn’t take away from how I love you. And… we talked, before I came back. In fairness, I didn’t want to come, but Námo made me… he’s like that… and Ecthelion… well, it’s not that he released me from our vows. But he told me our relationship was something that only existed in Valinor, that it would be too hard for me in Middle Earth, alone. That if I found someone, I should rejoice in them. And just love them, while I could. Because you never know when the time’s going to run out.’

‘That sounds very understanding of him...’

‘But he did say, when I sail or if I die again, I’m his from then on. And he’ll gut anyone who gets between us…’

Triwathon laughed.

‘Understood. But I’m not sure I’m the sailing kind.’

‘The fact is, Triwathon, that time I found you in the gardens, when you were sad… I thought I was being kind to you. It was all I intended, just to help, and then you looked at me and something about you… I’m sure you’ve saved me.’

‘Well, I am glad to take care of you, while you are here, so that you can tell your beloved, you were not always alone, you have been loved.’

‘Tell me more about Fine Red… about Maedon?’

‘He was such fun. Always up to mischief, full of delight. He never wanted to be a warrior, not really. He was a hunter, a fine shot. But he was always falling foul of the elk-trainers…’

‘The whom?’

‘Those who train the king’s elks. There is a region of the forest where hunters may not go, to protect the wild elk herd from which the royal steeds are bred and selected and trained. Hunters are prohibited, lest they frighten the herd and make it harder for the trainers to approach the creatures. Maedon would argue he was shooting at squirrels, or wood pigeons, and not the deer, but the trainers would argue back his presence was making the herds wary… eventually, he was advised if he wanted to shoot at things, it had better be spiders or orcs… so he joined the guard.’

‘Were you already serving?’

‘I? No. He’d been a guard for several centuries before I signed on. He said it was good, because it kept him out of the way of the naneths with single daughters… he was one of the archery tutors when I met him, and he helped me work on my draw… and a few other things.’ Triwathon grinned. ‘We had a century or so together, long enough to know we were not linked at the fëar, nowhere near long enough to tire of each other.’

‘You know, I don’t think even forever would be long enough. Not for the right one.’

‘Well, there you have it. My Naneth used to say, there is one perfect love for each of us… but there are also a handful of almost-perfect loves, a couple of score of people we could quite happily love for centuries, and many, many more who would be good companions for a decade or two. I think Maedon and I were amongst each other’s couple of score… I loved him, I miss him, I grieved deeply for him at first. And I would not say I am over the loss of him, but it hurts much less than it did. And, as you have said, whatever I feel for Maedon is distinct from my feelings for you, Laurefindil-nin… although you are only mine for a time. I would not begrudge you your Ecthelion. Was he as fair as the tales tell?’

‘Oh, he was stunningly beautiful in face and form! Dark hair and blindingly bright eyes, a clear voice and a strong, firm body, and his… but that is perhaps inappropriate…’

‘Maedon had hair of flame and the happiest laugh. And he was a hunter through and through, lithe and supple and… yes. Perhaps it is best not to talk about every aspect of our friendships…’

Glorfindel leaned across the table to capture Triwathon’s lips. He tasted of venison and gravy and wine and love and promises.

‘Did they celebrate Yuletide in Gondolin?’ Triwathon asked softly.

‘Not really… the dark days of the year were a time for reflection.’ Glorfindel tipped his head. ‘And yet, is that not what you are doing here? In Rivendell, Elrond has a Yuletide Feast, mostly because it stops some of the knights riding out to Bree to join in their revelries… it’s a bit stuffy, but the food’s good… but, no. Gondolin was quiet and restrained, and even Ecthelion behaved himself a bit. But I remember one year it was hard to be restrained, because we had good news... Turgon had agreed that Ecthelion and I could have a public avowing, that he would officiate for us. It had never been done before, although there were many couples like us…’

Glorfindel looked into the depths of his wineglass and stroked a finger around the rim, smiling softly.

‘You must remember, Gondolin was a closed society. It was a large and beautiful cage, a corral, a safe place. But we could not expand our boundaries, were not able to go anywhere, and it began to dawn on our lord that, slowly though our population was growing, still, growing it was, and that the more persons who were tied up in elfling-less relationships, the better for the stability of the city. So to encourage those who might otherwise not have admitted their longings, Turgon said that we may publicly celebrate our union, and we were going to have the ceremony a year after the announcement of our betrothal…’ He sighed. ‘We were so happy, for a time. But then Gondolin fell, just weeks before we were due to be united.’

‘How awful, my dear friend...’

‘Well, I suppose… but we didn’t know what was coming, so we were happy. Joyous, in fact. Knowing we would be able to live together openly and honourably.’

‘I had not realised quite how different Gondolin’s situation was from our own. We have been trying to rebuild our population, so it is only now that those like us are being accepted properly.’

‘At least your king isn’t a hypocrite like some lords I could mention…’ Glorfindel grinned. ‘I think Elrond needs to adjust his ideas a little. At least, if he expects Erestor, or me, to spend much time in Rivendell in future…’

‘I’m sure my king would be happy to make you welcome here for as long as you feel comfortable.’

‘He’s said as much… and I have to confess, since getting back, I’m very comfortable indeed.’

‘That’s good to hear. So, tell me more about Gondolin? Is there anyone else you miss?’

‘Not in the same way that I miss Ecthelion… What about you? I can talk about my lost friends any time I like, for you, it must be harder… is there a Naneth who is gone, or an Adar, or…?’

‘No, in that I am fortunate, my parents are still living, although in one of the outer settlements.’

‘Tell me about them anyway. And you. It’s all about you, Triwathon.’


	7. Best Yuletide Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Night of Names draws to an end... and so does Part One of Glorfindel's Yuletides.

The food was gone, the wine following, a second bottle opened. Glorfindel and Triwathon swapped stories, traded one for another, forgetting any trace of sadness attached to the empty plates, the candles guttering on the window ledge. Triwathon told the story of how Maedon lost a wide strip of skin from one leg, taking the meaning of being off-duty to its limits, causing Glorfindel to throw back his head and laugh until tears dripped from his eyes, and then, with much broad gesturing, the Balrog-slayer recounted the first event that earned Ecthelion his name of Lord of the Fountains which had Triwathon giggling delightedly and Glorfindel almost unable to finish the tale for his own sobs of laughter.

…and then Glorfindel was just sobbing, all joy gone as the reality of his long separation from Ecthelion fell upon him, all the pain of nearly four thousand years of loneliness, and how could such a recent thing, such a light thing as Triwathon’s affection balance against that?

Triwathon shoved away from the table and hurried round to pull Glorfindel into his arms while the Balrog-slayer wept.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know. It is awful, it is horrible, but after, it is better. Hush. Come, love. Let me hold you.’

Glorfindel clung and sobbed and Triwathon held him, comforting without interrupting, waiting patiently until the worst had passed.

Finally the arms around him stopped clinging quite so desperately and Glorfindel sniffed and gave Triwathon a little squeeze.

‘Sorry, sorry, beautiful, you didn’t need to see that…’

‘No, but you needed to let me see it. Come on. Let’s go to bed, just to cuddle, what do you say?’

‘I say a Triwathon cuddle sounds like just what I need right now.’

Triwathon pulled him to his feet and led him through to the bedroom, stroking his arm in gentle comfort. He found a handkerchief for Glorfindel to wipe his eyes on, and helped him out of his clothes with quiet tenderness, shedding his own garments swiftly and sliding under the covers to wrap the Balrog-slayer in his arms and cover him with as much of his body as he could, and all the time Glorfindel was trying to apologise for his outburst.

‘Glorfindel, hir-nin, Laurefindil-nin, melleth-nin, it is not anything to apologise for. But this is why we are not meant to be alone, tonight. Because the pain can feel so raw. But think, my dear friend; you have not lost your Ecthelion forever; he wants you back, he has told you this, he awaits you. Whenever you choose to sail, you will find him on the quayside waiting for you.’

‘I… hadn’t thought… yes, but somehow…’

‘That doesn’t invalidate your distress, though; you have been apart a long time, you miss him, of course you do. He is your fëa’s love, he is where you belong.’

‘I… you know, I can’t… haven’t been able to tell anyone. In Rivendell… I get low-spirited sometimes. And behind my back, Elrond says, don’t mind him, he died in flames, must be horrible all those memories of dying… but…’ Glorfindel shook his head, looking into Triwathon’s sympathetic eyes. ‘I have bad dreams of the Balrog, of course, I wake screaming but… but I’m a warrior, that’s what I do. The reason I fall into dark moods, it’s not because of the fighting. It’s because I’ve lost everyone, I’m adrift without them… Ecthelion, we were together in the Halls of Mandos, and that was possibly the happiest I’d ever been, away from the fighting and the crowds. The quiet, me and him, and talking, only talking. That’s the thing with being dead, no hands to touch with, no lips, no kissing. Just the talking.’

‘That’s what I miss about Maedon, too. I know it’s not the same; he was not my world, my everything… but he was the one I was closest too, my best friend. When you lose someone, you lose part of yourself. And that is what tonight is about; a chance to reconnect, to find those lost parts of ourselves and reclaim them. But it is different for you. Ecthelion isn’t just your beloved, your Lord of the Fountains. He is everything about your past life, all concentrated in one person, the one you loved most. So you weren’t just weeping for Ecthelion. Because even though you will see him again, he will hold you and you will hold him, you won’t see Gondolin again. It is your whole way of life, all the former you that you mourn. And I expect when you arrived Lord Elrond said, Welcome home. But it wasn’t home.’

Glorfindel nodded and sighed, and brushed his fingers along Triwathon’s jaw to his ear, tucked his dark, fiery hair back from his face.

‘And to say that sounds so churlish, so ungrateful. Elrond took me in, gave me purpose. But the language was changed, and the ways were changed, and the manners were changed, and even the lands… I could not even go back and look at the ruin of my former home, for there are no ruins to see. It might have been different if I’d lived through the changes, but I didn’t, I feel there are huge holes in my world… Can I kiss you now? I don’t want to be miserable company.’

‘Of course you may. And you are not miserable company. This is what tonight is for, so that we can leave some of our own darkness behind in the darkness of the night, and be brighter for it in the days ahead… Well? Kissing, you were going to kiss me?’

Glorfindel’s mouth smiled as his lips met Triwathon’s. He closed his eyes and allowed that touch of mouths to be everything, to fill up his senses. He breathed the scent of Triwathon’s skin, felt the softness of his lips on his own, savoured the heat of his tongue, the moistness of his mouth. The younger ellon’s skin was smooth beneath his roaming hands, velvet, silk, soft and warm, and suddenly all the grief and loneliness seemed to evaporate from his fëa and he felt blessed and warm. Triwathon’s body was a comforting weight, a promise and an enticement. The kiss deepened, developed into something far more than the touch of lips and hands on skin, became an embrace, a slow fall into loving union, a release.

And after, Triwathon kissed the corners of Glorfindel’s mouth, and snuggled the Balrog-slayer’s body close into his arms, and held him close through the rest of the night.

*

A pale pre-dawn blue filtering through the high window cast a gentle, muted light across the room. Triwathon woke, saw the blur of gloom clear as his eyes focussed on the ceiling, its painted arching rockwork. His mind drifted back to the evening and the night before, sharing the names with Glorfindel, sharing some of the heroic Balrog-slayer’s pain and so coming to understand more of his own sorrow. He had loved… (He paused in the thought. It was not yet after sunrise, it was still the Night of the Names) …loved Maedon, as one friend another, as a warrior loves another warrior, depending on each other’s strength and skill, rejoicing each in the other and celebrating that in physical, affectionate union and mutual need. And he had wept for Maedon, for the horror of his death, and grieved for him.

But his heart had been but lightly touched, and his fëa blessed by Maedon’s affection, not burdened by it. So now he could smile out into the last lingering traces of the night. 

‘Goodnight, Maedon, who liked fine red wine,’ he whispered. ‘Be well, until we speak again.’

Against his chest, Glorfindel whimpered, his hands twitching like a hound asleep in front of the fire.

‘Love you, Balrog-slayer, hir-nin, iphant-nin, melleth-nin. Not my forever-love, but one of those rare almost-perfect loves… if I never meet my fëa-mate, well, at least I have loved you. At least I feel I really know what love feels like, now.’ He smiled and kissed Glorfindel’s forehead, continuing a little more loudly. ‘Iphant-nin? I know you need your rest, old warrior, but if you want to say goodnight to your Lord of the Fountains, now is the time…’

Glorfindel sighed.

‘Who’s put bells on my horse?’ he asked. ‘My actual horse… I…’ 

Triwathon felt a jolt as Glorfindel properly came awake.

‘Did someone put bells on your horse?’ Triwathon asked.

‘What a question to ask when I’ve just woken up… Arwen. She had some left over from one of her damned crochet projects and she tied them to the harness… Ever since, not only do I jingle everywhere I ride, but I don’t need harness, only bother when I’ve got stuff to carry… but I have to use the harness because folk accuse me of sneaking up on them if I don’t… and it would have hurt dear Arwen’s feelings…’

‘Well, I can think of somewhere you ride that doesn’t jingle… or do you want me to find you some bells…?’

‘Oh, Triwathon, the things you suggest…’

*

It was late by time they made it out of the bedroom and into the outer chamber. The remains of their meal of the night before lay abandoned on the table, and Triwathon scraped off the plates and returned the dishes and the empty glass plates to the trolley.

‘I’ll take this back to Gwenthel and bespeak some breakfast,’ he told Glorfindel. ‘I will not be long. You can wake up the fire, if you wish.’

Glorfindel was staring into the flames when Triwathon got back.

‘Gwenthel promises breakfast in a short while; most of the others in this wing have already eaten.’

He took a seat next to the Balrog-slayer and found himself suddenly the subject of a very comforting hug.

‘Laurefindil?’ he said. ‘Are you well?’

Glorfindel stroked his hair tenderly.

‘Was about to ask you the same thing… last night, I went all to bits and you were such a refuge for me… but it was your night, your friend we were meant to be talking about…’

‘No, no, that is not the point of the night; it is for us… and for them…’ Triwathon pulled out of the hug just enough to be able to smile into Glorfindel’s too-blue eyes. ‘We did talk about my friend Fine Red Wine. Talking about him, my Fine Red… I realised what a good friend he was, how I missed him… and exactly how much I missed him. And that was… quite a lot at first, because I had few other friends, needing none. But now, I do have friends, and I miss him still. But differently. And your friend, the Lord of the Fountains, we talked of him, too. And as a result, I understand more about you, and your life before.’

He took Glorfindel’s hands in his own and gave his fingers a little squeeze.

‘I am fine. Last night was blessed for me, because it showed me how much I have now. And next time there is a night to speak his name, I will be able to join his family with no fear of distressing them with an inappropriate display…’

‘Such as I gave you last night…’

‘But no – that was entirely appropriate, I knew your feelings for your Lord of the Fountains. Are you well, now? Are you better?’

‘Do you know, I think I am? I hadn’t realised how much I’d been bottling it all up… not him, but everything that goes with my memories of him… Thank you, Triwathon. For sharing, and for letting me fall to bits in front of you…’

‘But that just made me feel you felt safe with me. And that was wonderful.’ He pulled Glorfindel into a swift hug, breaking off as a knock came at the door. ‘Breakfast.’

‘So,’ Glorfindel began over the food. ‘This next time…? Is it just once a year that you can say the names?’

‘No, there are other times… the begetting-day, the anniversary of the death. You know about the gemstones…?’

‘Yes, Legolas told me.’

‘The family can request the stone for the begetting-day commemorations. I feel I’ll be able to go to those now; I’d been afraid of upsetting his Naneth by saying something more than she felt easy hearing… it’ll be all right, now. Thank you, Glorfindel. I didn’t want to share his first Night of the Names with just anyone.’

‘And I am most grateful to you, Triwathon of the Beautiful Fëa. We have nothing like this.’ Glorfindel chewed thoughtfully on his toast. ‘We… we just have to get on with it.’ 

‘At least you know you will be reunited. We… some of us are not so sure.’

‘Do you know?’ Glorfindel said after a moment’s pause. ‘Of all my years, and all my lives, this has to have been the best Yuletide ever.’

Triwathon laughed.

‘And for me, also. Thank you for bearing me company last night.’

‘I’ll bear you company, lovely Triwathon, for as long as you let me.’

‘Well, I think that would be a very long time.’

Glorfindel smiled.

‘Oh, I do hope so,’ he said.

*

Two months later, Triwathon was up early, helping Glorfindel pack and trying not to mind that all the Balrog-slayer seemed to want to do was cuddle, and cuddle, and cuddle again.

‘Yes, and I would like nothing more than to stay in bed with you, all day, iphant-nin, but the others will be there in twenty minutes and you will be late.’

‘I don’t care. Don’t want to go. Want to stay here, with you.’

‘Then stay here with me; I do not mind, his majesty does not mind… Erestor will not mind, he has said, he will ride back with our guards and explain you are needed here…’

‘But Elrond asked for me. Says he needs me. Not like you need me. Not like I need you.’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t get leave to ride with you; the Dragon Guard is patrolling up the Forest River; we leave in two days, there is not time to…’

Glorfindel clambered off the bed and swamped Triwathon in a huge, cuddly, snuggly hug. 

‘I don’t want you to come with me,’ he said. ‘I want to stay with you. It’s different; I like being with you, it’s simpler here. The way you are with me, the way I can be with you… I’ve no-one there, a few friends… the lads, they’re good lads. And Erestor’s coming back. But it’s not what I mean… it’s… Elrond expects me to do things, hunt orcs, kill enemies… true, they need killing, but…’

‘But you want to nurture and protect, not maim and kill.’ Triwathon squeezed the Balrog-slayer gently. ‘You are not a simple soul, Glorfindel, for all you pretend to be. You have seen so much with those too-blue eyes… Come. Let me help you pack.’

He released his hold and turned back to Glorfindel’s saddle bags, suddenly sad… but was distracted as he took out a large, white towel and shook it at the Balrog-slayer with a mock-scowl on his face.

‘Laurefindil! I gave you towels for Yule, blue with yellow flowers!’ he said, laughing now. ‘And still you steal mine?’

‘Swapped,’ Glorfindel said. ‘On the shelf, I left one of the blue ones for you. To keep, so you know I’m coming back. And I’ll bring this one back to you. All right?’

‘All right.’

‘And… I want to say… if chance divides us… and… and you find someone who likes you, and you like him… and you’re lonely…’

‘Don’t.’

‘No, I must… that Parvon, I’ve seen how he looks at you. Like I felt when I looked at you, like Thiriston looks at Canadion, like the prince and his warrior… if we’re apart, and you need someone…’

‘Thank you. If I need someone. If.’

‘We were always, just until, no attachments, just for however long…’

‘Yes, we were.’ Triwathon smiled into Glorfindel’s hyperblue eyes. ‘And I will be here, next Yule, and the one after, I expect. And I am sure I will not be needing anyone in the meantime. But you, also. If you’re lonely…’

Glorfindel shook his head.

‘It’s not like that in Rivendell. You have to be discreet, and secret, and furtive. And I don’t want to creep around. Mind you, with your Arveldir coming back with Erestor, I think Elrond might find things changing.’

He sighed. 

‘Where did you hide my cloak, beautiful? I suppose I’d better leave with a swagger.’

‘Make sure you do; I want a public farewell from you fit to make the king’s eyes water.’

*

There was quite a crowd gathered to see Erestor, Arveldir and Glorfindel off; many of the warriors of the Dragon Guard were there, the king himself was present, his son Legolas, too. 

Triwathon held the bridle of Glorfindel’s horse, smiling at the sight of the bells on the harness while around him best wishes and kindly farewells were murmured and spoken.

Finally the escort were mustered and ready to head out.

‘My lord Glorfindel?’ the captain asked. ‘We are ready to give the order?’

‘A moment…’ Glorfindel leaned down and tipped Triwathon’s chin up to kiss him long, and deep, and thoroughly, and around them a stunned silence was followed by catcalls and cheers. ‘Lovely Triwathon of the Beautiful Fëa, thank you. I rode in two months ago despondent and broken and you gave me the best Yuletide ever and I will not forget it… already looking forward to the next one.’

Triwathon grinned. 

‘I’ll be listening for the bells on your harness; well, on your horse’s harness, that is. Be well, Honey Beer, iphant-nin, melleth-nin.’

‘Do you know? I think I will be, thanks to you.’

And the captain blew the horn, the troop began to move, and Glorfindel rode away with tears in his eyes and joy in his heart and already looking forward to coming back next Yule, whatever Elrond said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of Glorfindel's Yuletides, Glorfindel's Rivendell Revelries, will follow shortly. Unless you want to wait for next Yule...?


End file.
